You Aks of Pale Fire, And I'll Tell You It's Him
by shadesofmidnightsun
Summary: Godric comes home, Salazar stares at the moon, and they may or may not snuggle to sleep.


**You Ask of Pale Fire, and I'll Tell You It's Him **

Godric's footsteps echo down the corridor. 'Library,' Hogwarts has whispered, and it is library he is headed for, the satchel still thrown over his back. It can wait. He's been away for a month, and unpacking can wait.

The castle is silent and dark around him, but he knows the moon shines brightly outside, and the fire sill burns in the fireplace amid all those books.

It's by the window he finds him, his dark head on the desk and his cheek smearing the ink on the scroll.

Fast asleep.

Godric's fingers run through the tresses that spill over wood.

"Salazar."

The name is but breath that passes his lips and yet the other man stirs as if he knows the call.

He does. Godric knows that he does.

Salazar straightens and pushes his hair out of the way, and Godric runs his fingers through it again, from the nape to the crown.

"You're back."

"Yes. I am home."

Salazar doesn't move. His gaze must be directed outside and up to the stars; Godric really can't tell from behind him.

"Met any fair ladies out there?"

"A couple, perhaps."

"Bewitching?"

"Indeed." He starts kneading the muscles in Salazar's neck, and the man's chin falls on his chest.

"Killed any dark wizards?"

"What do you think?"

"I have been missing out," Salazar murmurs, and Godric knows it's a lie, as close to a joke he would get when tired like this, because he doesn't like killing, and he's never cared for the ladies at all.

"Truly." He pulls the parchment from under Salazar's arms. "Moon cycles?" he asks.

"There is a werewolf." Salazar holds out his hand to get back the parchment, and Godric complies. He starts kneading the tension in Salazar's shoulders away.

"A child has been bitten. She's six."

And that explains rather well. He presses down on a knot, and Salazar breaths out a moan in a voice that is both sandpaper and silk.

"You should sleep," Godric says and knows why his friend is awake, the urge to not lose a life, and the emptiness of the bed, and the peaceful silence, and demons that howl through the night.

"Did you find the boy?" Salazar asks.

"He's safe with the families. Miranda will take him."

He feels Salazar relax a bit more. "I am glad."

"And the life here?"

"Quiet," he says, and Godric bends down to close his arms around him. "Rowena is with her aunt."

"Helga?"

"Hands full in the garden."

"They're well," Godric says. A sigh of relief passes his lips.

"As well as can be."

"And you?"

The silence is answer enough. He leans further and finds Salazar's hand. Tugs at it.

"Come. Let's go to bed."

Salazar lets himself be pulled to his feet. His gaze sweeps over the scrolls, and Godric's grip gains in strength until he can guide him away.

"Tomorrow," he says. "They will stay here, worry not."

It is only a nod he gets in return, but when he leads, Salazar follows; it is simple, as always, no matter the path. He wonders if they might walk the skies in some future years when their bodies will be turning to dust. Wonders if they would be stars, shining together.

He takes them downstairs to Salazar's chambers because they carry the scent that he missed and the first traces of sun won't chase Salazar from the place.

"It's good to be back." He sits on the mattress; the straw dips under him and does it again under Salazar's weight.

"It is," Salazar says, and Godric thinks there is more, the unspoken words about time, about shadows and solitude, and it is good to see him again, to have him so close—that's what it means.

His hands find Salazar's shoulders to massage them again, and the man slumps against him.

"You carried this far," Salazar mutters and pulls the satchel off Godric's back. "Your muscles must have it worse."

"You could be right." It matters little to him as he breathes in the scent and his hands coax a new moan from Salazar's lips.

"Relax," he whispers. His hands slide down Salazar's spine. He can't get to the skin: the hem of the tunic is pinned into place by Salazar's thighs. Perhaps it is better this way.

'I missed you,' he thinks but does not say, because 'missing' and 'trust' go together, and he can live with the first while he has the other.

God knows he does.

His ribcage warms up. He finally opens his mouth.

"Sal," falls from his lips, and Salazar punches his arm, but gently, so gently. "Sorry I woke you," he says, and lies down, pulls Salazar with him, and wordlessly summons a quilt. "You think you'll be able to sleep?"

He feels Salazar shrug as he pressed close.

"I might. I might not."

"I'm staying here," he replies. It's a promise—an oath—meant to lay terrors to rest and bring peace to them both. His arm wraps around Salazar's chest, and his lips find the other man's neck, and then they lie still.

Breaths fill his ears, slower, and longer, and calmer. He can't tell the exact time when Salazar's consciousness drifts, but at some point Godric knows he's asleep and closes his eyes.

Once more he breathes in the smell.

Once more exhales.

Tomorrow he'll hear about the moon, and its cycles, and the poor child, and he'll talk of his journey, and ask about brewing the potions and the progress of spells that give life to these walls. He'd be sharing the first meal, and second, and all of the next, and notice Salazar's hair must have grown once again.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. Please drop a review.

~shades


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